


💛 My Whole Existence is Flawed 💛

by darlingargents



Category: The Lorax (2012)
Genre: Getting Fucked By a Stick of Butter, Implied Time Travel, M/M, Self-cest, Thneed Bondage, raped by a future version of self
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:56:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22395919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingargents/pseuds/darlingargents
Summary: The Once-ler meets a stranger on his journey.
Relationships: The Once-ler/The Once-ler (The Lorax)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 36
Collections: Writing Rainbow Yellow





	💛 My Whole Existence is Flawed 💛

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chicago_ruth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicago_ruth/gifts).



> Title and epigraph from Closer by Nine Inch Nails.
> 
> I'm genuinely sorry for bringing this into the world.

_You let me violate you  
You let me desecrate you  
You let me penetrate you  
You let me complicate you  
Help me... _

💛💛💛

Once-ler is working out the last few verses of _Everybody Needs a Thneed_ when his cart jerks to a stop. He sits up, putting his guitar aside, and looks around. He’s in the middle of the desert and hasn’t seen anyone in a few days, so he’s not sure what would’ve caused him to stop.

Something hits the back of the cart, hard, and he’s thrown forward. He catches himself on Melvin’s back and scowls at the back of the cart.

“Hey! What are you doing?” He hops off and heads around to the back. There’s a man there, wearing a long cloak, his face in shadows. His hands are covered by green gloves, and he’s about as tall as Once-ler.

“Go home,” the stranger says in a low, gruff voice. From his voice alone, Once-ler is pretty sure he’s an old man. “Turn around. You will fail at your mission.”

Once-ler laughs. “Everybody needs a thneed. I’m making the world a better place. Go away, old man.” He goes to hop back up on his cart, and freezes. Melvin isn’t moving. He’s staring at the man, and the man moves forward, feeding him an apple in his green-gloved hand.

“Hey! Don’t feed him!”

“Go home,” the man says, “or I’ll make you.”

Once-ler scoffs. “Oh, you’ll _make_ me? Sure. Get out of my way before I go over you.” He hops up on the cart, and pulls on the reins.

Melvin stays still, and butts his head against the man’s shoulder. The man produces another apple from the depths of his cloak and he gobbles it up happily.

“Hey!” He hates to sound so indignant — so _childish_ — but this man is feeding his mule. It’s just incomparably rude. “Go away.”

The man puts his hands on his hips. “I guess we’re doing this the hard way.”

“The hard—”

The man pulls a lumpy, misshapen object out of his cloak, and Once-ler goes silent in shock. It’s a thneed. Pale yellow and just like he imagined.

“How did you — where did you get that?” He jumps down, enthralled, and takes it, running his hands over it. It’s so soft and absolutely perfect. “It’s just like I imagined.”

The thneed is so distracting that he doesn’t see the man move at all. The man pulls the thneed out of Once-ler’s hands and yanks him bodily towards the back of the cart. He loops the ends of the thneed around Once-ler’s wrists and ties the middle of the thneed to the cart, securing him in place. Once-ler pulls against the bindings, but the thneed works perfectly, holding him securely. Then the man starts to pull on Once-ler’s pants, and his blood runs cold.

“What are you doing? Stop — seriously, what are you—”

“Shut up,” the man says gruffly. He gets the pants off over Once-ler’s shoes and pulls down his underwear, leaving him bare and exposed to the sun. There’s no one around for miles to see him like this, but Once-ler still instinctively tries to hide himself away. It doesn’t work.

The man goes around the front of the cart and gets in, and Once-ler can hear him going through his things, opening his fridge. He shouts at the top of his lungs, knowing no one can hear him, and feeling too panicked to think rationally. He pulls hard against the bindings; they hold tight.

The man returns, and Once-ler sees a glint of his eyes under the hood. In his gloved hands is a stick of butter.

“What are you — oh my god _no—_ ”

Once-ler is shocked into silence by the feeling of the man’s gloved fingers in his most intimate area. They slide clinically over his cock, which, despite the situation, is slowly hardening, and around his balls, and lower, prodding at his hole. And then they go _in_.

Once-ler screams. The feeling isn’t entirely unpleasant, but it’s too fast, too harsh, and far too dry. It hurts in a way that he’s never felt before, and lights up nerves he didn’t know he had. He’s definitely hard now and he’s so horrified that he tries to stop it with his mind. It doesn’t work.

The man prods around a bit more, pushing his fingers around, and inserts a second finger. “Shut up,” he says when Once-ler screams — well, squeals, really — again. He puts down the butter and reaches into his cloak to pull out a spare green glove. He shoves it in Once-ler’s mouth, choking him into silence.

He picks up the butter again, and removes his fingers, Once-ler has a moment of relief before he sees the man begin to unwrap the butter stick. He tries to ask what’s happening, but he can’t speak through the glove.

The cold butter nudges between his cheeks and into the hole, and he twitches, trying to pull away without success. He can feel gritty bits of sand trapped in the butter and on the man’s gloves as the butter pushes further and further in, overwhelming him. It’s starting to melt, running down his thighs, and the creamy feeling is so gross he can barely comprehend it.

The butter goes deeper and deeper, stretching him open, and then stops. And then the man starts to thrust.

It doesn’t hurt so much anymore, but it’s definitely not comfortable; Once-ler can feel tears drying against his cheeks as the butter goes in and out, slowly melting and shrinking in size, becoming almost horribly pleasurable. When the butter is almost fully melted, the man’s hand goes to his cock, stroking it almost like an afterthought, limp-wristed and dry. It feels good anyway, and Once-ler finds himself unwillingly pushing into the touch, little gasps escaping his mouth around the glove until he finds his release. It’s far better than he would’ve expected, considering… well, everything; he closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wagon, breathing hard, as the last spasms finish.

The thrusts of butter stop, and the man withdraws that hand. It’s just the end of the stick, with the wrapper still on. Melted butter runs down his glove, mixing with Once-ler’s release. He wipes his gloves clean onto the discarded pants and stands, pulling the glove out of Once-ler’s mouth.

“Now,” he says pleasantly, as if nothing has happened, “tell me. Will you go home and give up?”

Once-ler nods. He needs to get out of this; there’s drying butter all down the inside of his legs and sand getting into all his crevices, his wrists and arms are aching from being held up, the pleasure is wearing off and being replaced by shame.

“Promise?”

“I swear.”

The man nods and unties his hands. He takes the thneed and pauses, and then leans down to mop up the butter and sand between his legs. His hands aren’t gentle, but aren’t harsh, either; it’s matter-of-fact, like a parent cleaning him up.

He wrings the butter out of the thneed, and turns around. “Remember, Once-ler,” he says, “I’ll be back if you don’t keep your promise.” He whistles a short tune, and starts to walk away.

The sky goes dark, and a bolt of lightning hits the man, lighting him up. When the light vanishes, it takes the man with it.

It takes Once-ler a long time to stand up. Everything hurts and he’s never felt more humiliated or small in his life. He slowly makes his way to the front of the cart, and climbs up behind Melvin.

“Thanks for the help,” he snaps, and sighs.

If someone’s going to this length to stop him from making his thneed, what does that mean? Does he want to risk this happening again? Is his idea really worth it?

Onceler decides to sleep on it. In the morning, he’ll decide.

As he’s getting into bed, he keeps turning a tune over in his head, the one the man was whistling. It was strangely familiar. He whistles it himself, just a few beats, and goes still.

It was _Everybody Needs a Thneed_.

The man is long gone, but Once-ler gets out of bed and gets out of the cart, looking in the direction where the man went. All that’s left is a scorch mark on the ground. He can’t know for sure, but a part of him is certain… the man was _him_.

“My future self doesn’t want me to do this?” he muses aloud. “ _Why_?”

That’s a question for tomorrow-Once-ler, he decides. He goes back to bed and falls asleep, the song playing in his head.


End file.
